Yesterday
by Dawn Tango
Summary: She woke up alone in a world she didn't know in a body she didn't understand. And she still doesn't know who she is. Alice Drabbles.


Yesterday

She woke up alone in a world she didn't know, in a body she didn't understand. And she still doesn't know who she is.

1-Control

Alice Cullen liked to feel in control. She liked knowing that she had a knowledge no one else did, she liked knowing that there was _something _she had that no one else did (when they all had something she lacked.)

That's why she hated surprises. Esme and Carlisle knew that. Only Emmet tried to surprise her, but it usually failed.

She was so damn good at pretending, at pretending that the hole in her head didn't matter, that she was perfectly happy.

Bubbly.

Cheerful.

Eccentric.

That was Alice.

Then why was she here, on some forsaken, bleak coast, standing on a cliff's edge? The waves were keening, broken things, clawing at uncaring rock. They had more in common, she mused, then anyone thought.

Those…tatters…were back, lingering in her mind. Sometimes she thought she could _almost _touch them, taste them. But they slipped away and that black rage came back (and she could just scream with frustration.)

She doesn't want to remember what she can. She doesn't want to be the up-beat optimist who is secretly the one that keeps them all happy. She doesn't want to keep putting others before herself as she has for so many long years.

She doesn't want to keep pretending to be the most loving of Esme's children.

She wanted to remember her parents, her sister. Why had they put her in that place? (Why hadn't they loved her?)

She hated them too, because she felt so utterly out of control and Alice hated not being in control.

2-Grave

It was cold the day Alice went to Biloxi, Mississippi and found her own grave.

The crisp air flooded her lungs with the scent of decay.

The graveyard was old, with crumbling headstones, spotted with newer. The old graves were forgotten, unknown, the words of love and grief slowly eroding. The gravel crunched under her lithe steps.

It was among these that Alice stopped. The grave was small enough to suit a short child of twelve, the headstone weathered. She reached forward, pale fingers tracing the words.

_Mary Alice Brandon._

(Her name.) The memories flickered at the edge of consciousness. Alice had expected to feel some…accomplishment, some happiness that she knew her own name.

But Mary Brandon was a stranger.

_Dearly Beloved Daughter._

A bitter sound twisted painfully from her throat. If they had loved her, why had they put her in an asylum? Why had they faked her death?

(Lies. All of this was lies. She had come here and found lies.)

So she turned and walked away, not seeing the old, withered woman staring after her.

(Why did she still burn for more?)

3-Dance

Alice liked to laugh. She liked to throw away all the anger (the darkness that seemed essential to a vampire's make-up) and let the bell tone of her voice fill her ears. Her laughter was infectious, she'd found. Jasper's face relaxed when she laughed, releasing the stiff lines that seemed always to be there.

She also liked to dance. The meadow beside the river near their home was her favourite place. She stepped lightly, her motions faster than a humans, elegant.

She closed her eyes, pretending that she was a fairy, a pixie in truth (not a creature of darkness, of death).

The others watched her, pretending too. Pretended that this was a fairytale and everything will be fine. (But Alice wondered if this is as close as she's ever going to get.)

Sometimes Jasper joined her. They danced among the ancient trees (some of their family are older than these oaks) never touching. But he smiled and their eyes said everything.

(Maybe this is heaven)

He might say that she was the better of them but Alice knew better. Jasper was kinder. He hated himself for every human he had ever killed.

(Because he remembers being human and all she knows is black)

Alice knew she was a contradiction. The last person anyone would think was a vampire.

Alice Cullen was kind, cheerful.

She also was good at lying, at misleading.

(Sometimes she wondered if she'd managed to lie to herself.)

She wasn't like Jasper and Edward. She didn't have that brooding look, the hint of danger. But she was more dangerous.

So she danced and pretended, because she will always be seventeen and girls want to pretend.


End file.
